


Sparks

by Jane Elliot (JaneElliot)



Category: Criminal Minds, due South
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneElliot/pseuds/Jane%20Elliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With most of the BAU on vacation, Morgan and Garcia are called in on an arson case in Chicago.  For reasons that don't need to be explored at this juncture, they're paired up with a Mountie and a former Chicago cop, both of whom had been nearly killed by the *previous* Chicago serial arsonist.  Written for podfic_lover as part of the help_pakistan charity auction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [podfic_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=podfic_lover).



> I should note that this story is an AU, in the sense that there is no Kevin (well, I'm sure there is a Kevin, he's just not dating Garcia).
> 
> Huge thanks to Tabby, who did a phenomenal job beta'ing this fic:)

The call came in on a Sunday, just as Penelope was sitting down with a big bowl of popcorn and _Hackers_. Phone calls on Sunday nights were never a good sign so she said a wistful goodbye to her night of mockery and Johnny Lee Miller ogling and headed towards her bedroom as she answered the phone.

Twenty minutes later she left the apartment with a suitcase in hand and her most glittery barrettes in her hair. Derek's car was already parked in front of her apartment complex and he met her halfway to take her bag. "Hey, darlin'," he said, which was a little too brisk and uninspired to warrant a snappy comeback, but was said in that lovely growly voice that always gave her a thrill. "Sorry for the rush, but we've got to hurry to make our flight." Suitcase still in hand, he opened the passenger door for her.

Penelope smiled her thanks and slid in, but he shut the door before she could ask any questions. That was okay. As soon as he put the suitcase in the trunk and got in on the driver's side, he was at her mercy. "How can we be late? Doesn't the jet just go when you tell it to go?"

Derek winced and pulled away from the curb. "Actually, we're not taking the jet. Director Strauss wouldn't sign off on it just for the two of us."

"Oh," Penelope said, startled. "No one else is coming?"

"No one's been killed and there's only been one fire so far. I think Strauss only agreed to let me go because everyone else is on vacation and Chicago PD asked for me specifically. I had to do some fast talking to get her to approve you." He somehow managed to glance over without taking his eyes off of the road. "You don't mind coming, do you?"

Feeling like her chest had been filled with warm honey, Penelope grinned at him. "For you, sugar, anything."

He smiled back, with just a hint of strain. "You're something else, babydoll."

"I know," she said complacently. "So, tell me about this arsonist."

Derek took a deep breath. "This is going to take a while. See, this all started nearly twenty years ago with a man named Zoltan Motherwell..."

Penelope's eyebrows shot up at the name, and pretty much stayed that way for the rest of the drive and onto the plane. According to Derek, Zoltan Motherwell was a painter who woke up one day and decided to burn down everything he owned, including a loft and a couple of studios—

"Must've been a successful painter," Penelope commented.

"I guess," Derek said doubtfully.

—but apparently wasn't satisfied with destroying his own buildings because he promptly went out and started burning every art studio he could find, each time using his signature accelerant: perfume named Poison. A CPD officer named Vecchio and a Mountie named Fraser—

"A Mountie? Seriously?"

"I know," Derek said with a sigh.

—captured Motherwell and learned that he was on a mission against art, probably as part of his insanity defense. Two years later, the fires started again and this time they were targeting specific people, namely the officers involved in Motherwell's arrest. The perpetrator was found to be a woman named Greta Garbo—

"Greta Garbo?" Penelope asked dubiously.

"I _know_."

—who was obsessed with Motherwell. Garbo was captured by the Mountie and a new CPD officer named Kowalski, who was for some reason undercover as the _old_ CPD officer, Vecchio—

"Um..."

" _I know_."

—and since she'd actually tried to kill people with her fires (unlike Motherwell, who apparently just liked watching things burn) she was sentenced to twenty years in a maximum security prison. Four years into her sentence, she was killed by another inmate.

Now, eleven years later, there was another fire with perfume as an accelerant, and once again Vecchio (original flavor Vecchio, if Penelope was completely understanding the story, which she wasn't sure she was) was the target. No one had been hurt, but considering the escalation of perfume arsonists in the city over the years, it was just a matter of time.

"So it's not Greta Garbo," Penelope said as she squeezed herself into one of the gawd-awful coach seats. Either Strauss was on the warpath about something or it was budget season again. "What about Motherwell?"

"Died seven years ago," Derek said, already seated and buckled in. He leaned against the wall of the plane, looking tired. "Heart attack."

"Apparently the karma fairy's been busy," Penelope said. "I'm guessing my job is to find out who might be connected to Motherwell and Garbo?"

"Exactly."

"A small task for a Supreme Genius," Penelope said, settling back in her seat.

Some of Derek's tension seemed to melt away. "That's my girl."

Penelope smiled at the little burst of warmth his words caused and enjoyed them all the way through the taxi and take off. Once they were in the air, however, she couldn't put off the obvious question any longer. "You said the Chicago PD specifically requested you. Was that because you used to work for them?"

"Sort of." Derek sighed. "Actually, I was a uniform in Vecchio's—and, later, Kowalski's—precinct. Technically Kowalski was the one who made the arrest, but I was the one who transported Garbo back to the station and booked her. I found out about this new fire when my family was put into protective custody and I asked the CPD to request me for the case."

Penelope frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Won't the arsonist be targeting you, then?"

"Maybe," Derek said with a shrug. "But I'm not about to stay away when my family's in danger."

Well, when he put it that way... Penelope pulled her phone out of her purse. "Okay, I can't start the search yet till we land, but I can work on the parameters. Tell me everything you know about Motherwell and Garbo."

~~~

The rest of the flight passed quickly enough; with Derek's knowledge of the case Penelope managed to come up with several promising search algorithms and just needed a connection to the CPD's database to get them all running. Once that had been worked out, however, Derek had fallen silent and Penelope had remembered just how much she hated to fly coach. The seats were really too small, and no matter how much she arranged herself, she was going to be pressed up against one of her seatmates. After a half-second's consideration, she decided to lean against Derek and suddenly flying coach didn't seem half bad.

At some point she must've drifted off, because she woke up when the plane landed and discovered that not only had she been using Derek's shoulder as a pillow, but she'd _drooled_ on him!

"Oh, Jiminy Cricket," she said, swiping ineffectually at the stain. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, hey," he said gently, absently taking her hand and holding it between both of his. "Not a problem. You can use my shoulder as a pillow any time."

Her brief just-woken-up-and-drooled-on-her-crush panic passed and she smirked. "I'm going to remember you said that."

"Good," he said, and he sounded like he meant it, even if he did turn away a moment later to watch out the window as they taxied up to the arrival gate.

Penelope carried the warmth of that comment inside her as they got off the plane and headed to baggage claim. None of them were operating yet, so Derek went to the bathroom and Penelope hovered around the water fountains waiting for him and listening to snippets of conversation as people walked down the corridor from the terminals to the baggage claim.

At one point, a couple of people must've stopped just around the corner from her, because she could suddenly hear their conversation clearly.

"—aser! It's Stella! The fucker went after Stella!"

"Well, to be completely accurate, it sounds like his primary target was actually Ray, Ray."

Penelope lifted an eyebrow and shook her head for the poor soul named Ray Ray, while sidling closer to the corner. Whatever the argument was about, it sounded interesting.

"I could care less about the style pig," the first guy snapped. "Especially since we both know he's going to be a dick when he sees us and I just don't want to deal with his shit today. Not with everything that's going on."

"I'm sure Ray will be professional and courteous," the other man said and Penelope wrinkled her nose in distaste. There were way too many Rays in this conversation.

The first man snorted then, after a moment said, "Hey, Ben. How much do you love me?"

Penelope's eyebrows shot up. This was better than soaps!

"Oh, dear," the other man said warily. "Ray—"

"Hey, babydoll."

Penelope jumped a foot in the air. "Morgan! God, you scared me!"

He smirked. "Eavesdropping on other people's conversations again?"

"Hey, if they're going to talk in a public place, it's not eavesdropping," Penelope said, just slightly defensively.

"Not judging," Derek said, holding up his hands.

"Humph," she said, ready to hold out for an apology.

Derek just smiled and went to pick up her bag from the carousel, his muscles bulging under his just-a-fraction-too-tight tee-shirt. She grinned. Close enough.

Once they'd navigated the rental car agency and picked up a black SUV (over Penelope's protests; she'd wanted the pretty purple PT Cruiser), they made their way through the surprisingly heavy evening traffic straight to the precinct, only to find that there was no one actually _at_ the station. At least not until they got to the bullpen, where a handful of officers were gathered around a trio of older gentlemen. Two of them, a husky guy with silver-shot black hair and a lanky man with spiky blond hair, were kissing enthusiastically while the third—wiry, balding, and with a large nose, yet surprisingly attractive overall—looked on with a pained expression.

"Oh my," Penelope said, a delicious thrill running through her. After the asshole who'd hurt Derek as a kid and then tried to frame him for murder as an adult—not to mention the statistically improbable number of serial arsonists in the area—Penelope hadn't been predisposed to think highly of the Windy City. Now, however... "Maybe Chicago isn't all bad after all."

Next to her, Derek snorted.

The wiry man cleared his throat pointedly and, a few seconds later, cleared it again. After another few seconds, the two men finally broke apart. "Stanley—" the wiry man started.

The blond—Stanley, apparently—lunged towards the brunet, lips first.

"Fine!" the wiry man snapped. " _Kowalski_. Fraser. My office."

He turned and walked away. Just before he stepped into the office on the other side of the room and without turning back around, he shouted, "And no more kissing on duty!"

Kowalski and Fraser broke apart, Fraser looking slightly guilty and Kowalski like a cat who just ate a whole barrel of cream.

Penelope grinned. Yep, Chicago was definitely growing on her.

"Come on," Derek said, following Kowalski and Fraser through the rapidly thinning crowd. Penelope hurried behind, torn between staring at Derek's delectable ass or at the way Kowalski and Fraser's hands kept bumping together, just often enough that it probably wasn't an accident.

With Derek setting the pace, they reached the office a few seconds after the other two, and as they got close Penelope could hear one of the men say, "—can't help it. I got histamized—"

"Hypnotized," the other man said, and Penelope's eyes got wide as she realized that these guys were the two men that she'd heard talking in the airport.

"—right, _hypnotized_ so that anytime I hear the word 'Stanley', I have to kiss Fraser. Can't help it, right, Ben?"

"Well, actually—"

"I don't want to hear it," the third man said, just as Derek and Penelope reached the office. He sounded gruff, but a moment later he was grinning and had the big guy—Ben Fraser, apparently—wrapped up in a huge bear hug. "God, it's good to see you again, Benny."

"You as well, Ray. I'm sorry this reunion had to be under such inauspicious circumstances."

"I know," Ray said. "But hey, I've just about talked Stella around to the idea of a fishing trip up your way." He gave Fraser a couple of manly whacks on the back and then pulled away to hold out his hand to Kowalski. "Maybe you could try?" he added as they shook. "Talk up the idea?"

"You want to take Stella fishing?" Kowalski asked, sounding pained.

"God, no," Ray said. "Last time Benny and I went fishing, he ended up blind and I killed a guy. And then we went over a waterfall."

"Gee," Kowalski said. "Can't imagine why you're having a tough time convincing her that's fun."

Ray opened his mouth to say something else, but Derek had apparently had enough because he cleared his throat pointedly. The other three men immediately jerked around. "Who are you?" Ray asked belligerently. A moment later his face cleared. "Morgan? Derek Morgan? Is that you?"

Derek's body, which had been wound tighter than a spring, suddenly relaxed just a little. "Yes, sir," he said, holding out his hand. "It's good to see you again, Detective Vecchio."

"It's Lieutenant now," Ray said as they shared a firm handshake. "I'm in charge of these jokers."

"Hey," Kowalski said. "No one's in charge of me."

Derek and Ray ignored him. "I heard you caught a golden bullet," Derek said.

Penelope stayed quiet, but couldn't help but mouth _golden bullet_. Fraser leaned in and said quietly, "Not an actual bullet made of gold, but a gunshot injury that is severe enough for a medical discharge with full pension."

"Oh," Penelope said with a beaming smile. Fraser really was very pretty. "Thank you."

Ray was saying something about coughing up the golden bullet—hopefully that was more metaphor—during a visit to the 27th Precinct and about how that was a sign that he was supposed to give up his bowling alley in Florida and come back to work for the Chicago PD. Fortunately, before that conversation got any more surreal, Derek said, "Thanks for requesting me; the FBI won't assign the BAU to any case if the local PD doesn't invite us."

"If only all Fibbies were so enlightened," Ray said. "Is this your partner?" he added with a charming smile that veered perilously close to smarmy, but was saved by the respect in his eyes and the professionalism in his handshake. Penelope had a sneaking suspicion that he struck out a lot with the ladies unless he really liked a woman. Then he was probably irresistible.

"Penelope Garcia, technical genius," she offered.

"Best computer tech in the country," Derek added, demonstrating why she loved him. "She's going to be looking for anything that Zoltan Motherwell and Greta Garbo have in common."

"Besides the obvious?" Kowalski asked, aggressively.

"Sweetie, by the time I'm done, you'll know everything that connects them, down to whether or not they liked the same cereal," Penelope said smartly. Of course, that depended on whether they bought the cereal with credit, but most people did.

"Right," Kowalski said, sounding a little taken aback. "Well, while you're doing that, Fraser and I'll go check out Vecchio's house."

"I'll go with you," Derek said quickly.

"Nobody's going anywhere until tomorrow," Ray said firmly. "It's been a long day and it's after midnight. Frannie lined up hotel rooms. Come back tomorrow when you're fresh and when businesses are actually open."

"I thought Frannie quit," Kowalski said, as Ray dug through some papers on his desk.

"The kids are all in school," Ray said with a shrug. "She got bored and was driving Ma up the wall. Working here gives her something to do." He pulled a paper out from the bottom of the stack. "Here we are. You're all at the Marriot just a few—oh." He cleared his throat and Penelope didn't think she was imagining his cheeks turning pink. "Benny, Kowalski, you two are ready to go. Morgan and Garcia—I'm sorry about this, but it looks like she put you in the same room. The commissioner's been on us about budgets," he added apologetically. "Frannie probably thought you were both men and..."

"It's okay," Derek said, just before Penelope could say that there was no problem at all in sharing a room. "I'll be staying at my mom's place."

"Oh," Penelope said with disappointment. Then she realized that she'd soon be seeing _Derek's childhood room_. "Oh! Yeah, that'll be perfect."

Ray made some half-hearted protests that were easily ignored by the both of them. It was harder to put off Derek's offer to drop Penelope off at the hotel on his way home, but she stuck to her guns and soon they were driving through a maze of dark streets. Most of the shops were closed, but there were still a surprisingly large number of people on the sidewalks and in parking lots, most of them young enough to be in high school, though between the bandanas, tattoos, and half-concealed guns they didn't look anything like the kids from her high school.

Gangbangers, Penelope realized and her brain finally kicked in enough to remind her that Derek hadn't grown up in a nice upper middle class neighborhood like she had. He'd grown up in a neighborhood run by gangs and violence, where a boy had little future and less hope. A neighborhood where a man killed three children and raped countless more. A neighborhood where Derek was assaulted and where he was arrested for a crime he didn't commit.

Maybe inviting herself to his mother's house hadn't been a good idea after all.

"You okay?" Derek suddenly asked. "You're being awfully quiet over there."

"I'm fine," she answered, too quickly. "Just... I'm surprised you wanted to stay at your mom's house after... everything."

Derek was silent for a while, long enough for Penelope to regret saying anything, before he finally quoted, "'No matter how humble, there's no place like home.' It's where I grew up," he added with a shrug. "No matter how ugly the neighborhood got, that house was always a safe place for me." He grinned. "Besides, Mom'd kill me if anything happened to that house. Especially since I was the one who convinced her to go to the safe house."

Penelope smiled at that, but frowned almost immediately. "Do you smell smoke?"

Derek sniffed, then swore. A moment later the SUV suddenly accelerated to completely unsafe speeds. Penelope held onto the door handle and asked desperately, "You were kidding when you said your mom would kill you if anything happened to the house, right?" No response. " _Right?_ "

"Hold on," Derek said. "We're almost there."

Penelope saw the fire long before she saw the house: the red glow of it filled the sky. "Oh, God," she breathed as they drew closer. Smoke was pouring out of all of the windows and she could see flames flickering beyond the shattered glass.

Swearing continuously under his breath, Derek slammed on the brakes and threw the car in park. "Call it in," he barked as he shoved the door open and ran in the direction of the house.

Penelope couldn't imagine that this hadn't already been reported, no matter how broken the neighborhood was, but she pulled out her cell phone anyway and dialed 911. The SUV was parked near the corner so she was able to provide the street name, but she had to guess at the house number. The dispatcher told her that police and fire rescue were already on the way and ordered her to stay in a safe location until they arrived. Deciding that the safest place in this neighborhood was wherever Derek was, Penelope climbed out of the car and pushed her way through the rapidly growing crowd of rubberneckers.

After ten minutes her shirt was turning an unsightly grey from all of the ash in the air, the crowd around her was growing increasingly hostile, and she was seriously considering returning to the SUV, if she could find it in this mess, when she literally bumped into Derek. "Oh, thank God," she breathed, latching onto his arm. She'd never thought much about skin color before—people were people were people—but she wasn't blind to the way the people around her were staring at her as if she was a novelty item and she didn't think it was because of her sparkly barrettes.

"Well, well," an aggressive, insinuating voice said. Derek swore under his breath and shifted around so Penelope was a little behind him. Penelope looked up to see a massive guy wearing a black bandana and opted to stay where Derek put her. "Looks like someone's developed a taste for white meat," the man said, leering.

"Step back, Rodney," Derek said tightly. "I don't have time for you today."

"No need to be like that, F-B-I," Rodney said, his voice going high pitched and mocking. "Looks like there's plenty to go around."

Penelope straightened sharply and let go of Derek, her eyes narrowing. She opened her mouth and was about to tell this Rodney _exactly_ what she thought of his insinuation when Derek suddenly reached back and grabbed her hand. He squeezed it firmly and Penelope subsided, though not without a mental promise to exact revenge the next time she saw this creep.

"My mother's house is burning," Derek said, his voice remarkably controlled considering the aggression in his stare. "Any word on who might've done it?"

They glared at each other for a few moments before Rodney snorted and backed up a step. "Your mom's been in the 'hood a long time, Derek and this—" he gestured at the smoldering remains of the house "—this ain't right. Which is the only reason why I'm telling you anything."

"Fair enough," Derek said gravely. He also let go of Penelope's hand, which she took to mean that the dangerous moment had passed.

"Word is, there was a stranger lurking around just before the fire started. White kid, wearing a sweatshirt with one of those hoods."

Derek frowned. "Anything more? Height, weight, age, coloring? Anything?"

Rodney shrugged. "Skinny, young. Couldn't see anything else under the hood of the shirt."

"Male or female?"

"Guy, I think."

Derek nodded grimly. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me," Rodney said, and he sounded serious. He turned to Garcia and leered again. "And when you decide you're ready for a real man, babydoll, you look me up."

Penelope grabbed Derek's hand and glared at Rodney. "Derek's _all_ man," she said fiercely. "Anyone else would be trading down."

Rodney started to scowl, then suddenly offered a fake laugh. "Not my type, anyway," he said. "I like my meat _lean_."

And with that half-assed insult, he wandered off. "Jerk," Penelope muttered.

"No doubt," Derek said, squeezing her hand. "You okay?"

Penelope huffed dismissively. "As if a pathetic little yappy dog like that could scare me."

Derek frowned. "Don't underestimate him, Garcia. You're safe with me, but if you ever find yourself alone with him—"

"That's what tazers are for," she cut in with a scowl.

He laughed suddenly, a sharp, bright sound in the midst of all of the dirt and smoke and ash. "Sounds good to me. Come on. The sooner we find the fire chief, the sooner we can leave and get some sleep."

 _And the sooner I can find this Rodney guy's last name and destroy his credit_ , Penelope thought to herself. Then she considered that a person like Rodney probably didn't actually use credit. Still, she could find some way to make his life miserable. If nothing else, he probably had a cell phone...

Thoughts of revenge supported her through Derek's brief conversation with the fire chief—yes, there was definitely accelerant used; no, they couldn't tell what kind until the fire was completely extinguished; yes, as soon as he knew more he'd call—and most of the way across town to their hotel. It was only as they were parking in the garage under the hotel that Penelope realized: "He called me 'babydoll'."

Derek grabbed their bags out of the car and passed the lightest of them—Penelope's laptop bag—to her. "Yeah," he said tightly. "I heard."

"Is that who you picked it up from?"

He didn't answer until they made it to the elevator. "Maybe," he admitted as they started up. "I spent a lot of time around him and guys like him when I was younger. Does that bother you?"

"No," Penelope said dubiously. "But I think you should come up with a new nickname, something that's from your heart. Something like..." The elevator doors dinged open, just as she came up with the perfect name: "Hot Lips!"

Derek blinked at the wide-eyed family of four who were waiting to get on the elevator. "What's 'hot lips' mean?" the youngest kid—a girl who couldn't be more than six—asked.

Penelope grinned down at her. "It means that you have on some _very_ fabulous lipstick."

The girl grinned back, but the rest of the family didn't seem to be as impressed and seconds later Penelope found herself standing with Derek, alone in the lobby besides the lady behind the check-out counter. "Hot Lips?" Derek asked as soon as the elevator doors closed, sounding amused.

"You have to admit, I have very hot lips," Penelope pointed out, offering him a quick pucker as proof before heading in the direction of the reception desk.

"You do," he said without hesitation. "But they're not nearly as hot as your ass."

"Derek!" Penelope squealed in delight. "Though, unfortunately I don't think 'Hot Ass' is going to last very long if Hotch catches you saying it."

"Pity," Derek said with a smirk before turning to the check-in lady, who wasn't bothering to hide the fact that she was smiling. "Two to check in."

They exchanged possible nicknames as they claimed their key and headed up to the room. Penelope's favorite was probably the Goddess of Geek, though she retained a sneaking affection for Hot Lips. She just loved the way it rolled off the tongue. Derek's stated favorite was Sweet Cheeks, but Penelope figured that was probably because he knew he was the only person on the planet who could get away with saying it without having to face her wrath. "Though I have to say that you have some pretty sweet cheeks yourself," she said as they entered the room, deliberately dropping her eyes to admire his delectable derriere.

"You have no shame," Derek said with a laugh, though Penelope noticed that he didn't do anything to remove his butt from view. In fact, she was pretty sure she caught him swaying his hips just a little as he walked into the living room area of the suite.

"That's me," she said brightly. "Completely shameless."

He smiled and shook his head. "Thanks," he added seriously. "I wouldn't have thought I could laugh, not after a night like this."

"Any time," she told him, matching his tone. Then she added cheekily, "It's my pleasure."

His smile returned, giving Penelope a little thrill, but all he said was, "Want me to sleep out here?"

"Don't be silly," she said, waving a hand to cover up the way her heart was suddenly racing. "There's two beds and we're both adults." _And if you want to, say, cuddle, I won't complain_ , she added silently.

"Okay," Derek said. He blinked a few times, and then shrugged a little. "Okay, then. You want the bathroom first?"

"Sure," Penelope said, a little baffled by the sudden end to their flirting. Chalking it up to tiredness—something she could definitely empathize with at the moment—she smiled at him and rifled through her bag. At least she'd thought to pack her sexiest night gown.

Sadly, the gown didn't do her a bit of good, since she exited the bathroom to find Derek already asleep. Penelope put her hands on her hips and harrumphed, but he'd had a long day and looked too cute for words when he was sleeping. In less than a second she forgave him. Making her way to her own bed (sending a silent thank you to Derek for turning on the lamp next to her bed so that she didn't have to fumble in the dark), Penelope snuggled into the blankets and closed her eyes. Ten seconds later, she was asleep.

~~~

The next morning Penelope managed to get all of her searches running before the two Rays finished their pre-coffee bickering and found herself at loose ends. While the BAU openly considered her their own personal technical genius, the fact was that she was in high demand at Quantico and most days she had three or four projects to work on during the lulls between the team's requests for instant information.

Lacking anything extracurricular to keep her entertained, Penelope wandered into Ray Vecchio's office and took full advantage of the rare opportunity to shamelessly ogle Derek's shoulders.

As she walked in, Fraser was offering condolences to Derek for the loss of his childhood home and making a suggestion that the house be the second destination of the day, after Vecchio's house. "Or we could split up," Derek offered in return. "You two check into Vecchio's house while I go back to my mom's."

"Not alone," Vecchio said immediately. "No one goes anywhere alone while this arsonist is loose. Benny would be dead if Kowalski hadn't been there when he confronted Garbo."

"Very true," Fraser said. "Though I should note that Ray would be dead if he hadn't been wearing a vest. I strongly recommend that we all wear them for the duration of the case."

"Good idea," Vecchio said. He picked up the phone and dialed. "Frannie, I need you to find me four Kevlar vests."

Kowalski groaned. "I hate wearing borrowed vests. They never fit right."

"Why four vests?" Derek asked. He glanced behind him, and his eyes widened. "Oh, no."

"What?" Penelope said indignantly.

"You're not coming with us," Derek said. "It's not safe."

"You're going to houses that have already burned down," Penelope pointed out. "What, do you think the arsonist is going to burn them down again?"

"The last time the arsonist set Kowalski's car on fire," Derek retorted. "With Kowalski and Fraser still in it. It's not safe for you outside of the station."

Penelope crossed her arms. "All the more reason for me to come along. I can keep an eye on the car."

"She does have a point," Fraser said. Derek glared at him. "Not about the car. Well, actually, her point about the car is an excellent one as well. What I was referring to, however, is her statement that it is extremely unlikely that the perpetrators will return to the scene of their previous crimes. Neither Motherwell nor Garbo did so—"

"The crazy bitch just followed us instead," Kowalski muttered.

"—and if this third arsonist is connected to the previous two, which seems extremely possible, he or she will likely follow similar patterns."

"Following patterns means that he should be predictable," Vecchio said. "What do you say, Morgan? Profiling's what you do, right?"

Derek stopped glaring Fraser with visible reluctance. "Profiling works by gathering information and interpreting it with the use of averages drawn from prior data with similar conditions. Unfortunately averages don't seem to apply when Fraser's around."

"Isn't that the truth," Vecchio said under his breath.

"Neither Motherwell nor Garbo meet the traditional profile for a serial arsonist," Derek continued as if Kowalski hadn't said anything. "I doubt this new arsonist will be any different."

"So you're saying it's time for old-fashioned police work," Kowalski said brightly.

"And computer work," Derek said pointedly.

"I've done everything I can till my programs finish running," Penelope said. "And I can access everything from my phone." Derek still didn't look convinced, so she turned to Vecchio and added, "Or I could upgrade your systems. You aren't still running Windows, are you?"

Vecchio's eyes widened. "Enough bitching. All four of you, get out of here. No splitting up until Benny's licked everything there is to lick."

Penelope glanced over at Derek, who was looking just about as awkward as Penelope felt. "Uh... licked?"

"Ben's got a licking thing," Kowalski said. "It's gross."

"Sounds like it," Penelope said dubiously. She turned puppy dog eyes on Derek. "So we can go?"

He heaved a put-upon sigh. "Fine. But you keep your vest on and stay right next to me at all times."

She leered. "I'll be glued to your side, sweet cheeks."

His mouth tightened, but she could see the corners of his lips twitching and chalked that up as a point for her. A quick glance over at the others found Vecchio rolling his eyes, Kowalski smirking, and Fraser completely oblivious.

The moment was broken by a beautiful middle-aged woman wearing a tight shirt and skirt walking in with her hands full of Kevlar vests.

"Frannie!" Kowalski said, sounding delighted. "Damn, you look great," he added, pulling her into a hug. "Are you sure you have six kids?"

She laughed, despite the awkwardness of hugging while holding four vests. "Trust me, I'm sure. How's the Northwest Areas? Did you find Benjamin's Head?"

Kowalski let go, looking confused.

"Perhaps you mean Franklin's Hand?" Fraser offered.

"Head, hand, whatever. Did you find it?"

"I'm afraid not," Fraser said. "No one ever has, however, so it was very unlikely that we'd be successful where so many others have failed."

"It was still a great adventure, though," Kowalski said with a leer.

"Out!" Vecchio shouted. They got out.

Once outside Kowalski and Derek had a brief but heated squabble over who got to drive while Penelope and Fraser exchanged looks of long-suffering commiseration. In the end the boys compromised with Kowalski driving the SUV Derek had rented. As soon as Kowalski's back was turned, however, Derek winked at Penelope, making her wonder if he'd engineered it that way.

On the drive to Vecchio's house that tiny bit of flippancy disappeared entirely as Derek helped Penelope get into her vest. "It's tight," she said as he strapped her in. "I can't breathe."

"It's supposed to be tight," Derek said grimly. "And no, I'm not going to loosen it. I'm not taking any chances."

Penelope sighed. Maybe she should've stayed at the station; Frannie was probably full of juicy gossip on Fraser and Kowalski. "Don't worry," she insisted. "I promise I'll stay in the car."

"I don't think so," Derek said, sounding even more grim. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

On any other occasion, that comment would have made her pulse flutter. At the moment, however, it mostly made her want to smack him. "I thought I was supposed to watch the car to make sure no one planted a bomb."

"There's only a couple of places a bomb can be planted on this model of SUV without setting off the car alarm," Derek said and Penelope silently acknowledged that her partner was a genius, in a hot, manipulative, evil overlord sort of way. "I'll clear it before anyone gets inside."

"I'd heard that you'd transferred into the bomb squad after the Garbo case," Fraser said. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Well enough," Derek said. "It got me away from a tough situation at the fourteenth, and Captain Taggert taught me a lot. The FBI's better, though."

Kowalski snorted. "You couldn't pay me enough to work with Fibbies all day."

"Actually," Derek said, his body finally relaxing just a little, to Penelope's relief, "I work with a great team."

"Are they all profilers?" Fraser asked politely and Derek promptly launched into a monologue about the awesomeness of the BAU. Penelope contributed a comment here and there, but was mostly content to stay silent and watch. Derek was stunning when he was enthusiastic.

Too soon for her taste, they pulled up next to a blackened ruin that might once have been a fairly nice house. Penelope glanced down at her fabulous, nearly-new pink pumps and wrinkled her nose. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay in the car?"

Derek rolled his eyes and opened her door. "Come on, sweet cheeks."

She sighed and followed the others into the building, being sure to step exactly where Derek did. The floor really didn't look all that stable.

Either Fraser and Kowalski were braver than she and Derek or they were more experienced in walking through burnt-out structures, because by the time Penelope was safely hovering behind Derek in the doorway to the living room Kowalski was already pacing about the space in an intent manner and Fraser was... on his knees next to the wall, licking the charred wood. Ew.

"This the point of origin?" Derek asked, picking his way carefully into the room. Penelope followed on tiptoe.

"Yeah," Kowalski said. "The fire chief thinks it was a Maltese cocktail thrown through the window. You can see where the glass from the window came into the house; if the fire had blown the windows out the glass would be, well, out."

Penelope blinked and wondered what a Maltese cocktail was.

"Ah, Ray, I think you might mean a Molotov cocktail," Fraser said, clambering to his feet. Somehow his jeans were completely soot free, Penelope noted with envy. Her own pumps were already dusted with black. "A Molotov cocktail is an improvised incendiary device comprised of a glass bottle filled with an accelerant and a homemade, usually cloth-based fuse. A Maltese cocktail, on the other hand, is a range of sweet alcoholic beverages based around vodka and citrus juices or liquors."

Everyone stared at Fraser. Kowalski shook his head and said, " You've been reading that cocktail recipe book Stella sent, haven't you? You know that was a gag gift, right?"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. "It's really rather interesting, Ray. I had no idea there were so many different forms of alcohol available. And the combinations do sound rather tempting."

"Fraser, you hate alcohol."

"To be honest, I have very little experience of it. Perhaps I've been missing out."

"Ooo," Penelope said, stepping forward eagerly. "We should go out tonight. I know some _great_ cocktails."

To her surprise, Fraser flushed and stammered, "W-well that...uh...sounds very nice Ms. Garcia. But..."

Kowalski rolled his eyes. "She's not hitting on you, Fraser." He sent a sharp glance at Penelope. "Are you?"

"No!" Penelope said quickly. "Swear to God. He's not my type."

Kowalski stared at her. "What do you mean he's not your type? He's everyone's type."

"I think we're getting off the subject here," Derek cut in.

Kowalski looked back and forth between Derek and Penelope. "Right," he said knowingly. Penelope sighed wistfully. If only there was something to know. "So," he added briskly. "What's your profiling mojo say about the guy burning all these buildings?"

Derek immediately snapped into profiler mode. It wasn't something Penelope got to see often, but she enjoyed it every time she did. The way his eyes sharpened and his body tightened as he turned to inspect the room, like a lion on the hunt... well, it made her insides all deliciously warm. "This isn't a copycat," was the first thing he said, which was enough to distract even Penelope. "The MO is all wrong. Motherwell and Garbo were both very precise with their fires; each one was set in a location where it would cause the greatest amount of damage before being discovered. Both were very organized, highly intelligent, and they had a specific goal.

"The unsub in this case, on the other hand, is disorganized. He didn't plan this fire. All he did was show up with an improvised firebomb and wait for the coast to be clear. He got lucky at this location because there happened to be a gas line near where the fire was started. At the second location the damage was much less severe because the bomb landed near the fireplace and was partially contained."

 _The second location_ , Penelope thought, sadly. _Oh, Derek._

"So you don't think this guy is connected to Garbo?" Kowalski said dubiously.

"No, they're definitely connected," Derek said. "Perfume is much too expensive to be a commonly used accelerant. Motherwell used it because he considered the fires to be art; to him using a perfume called Poison was an artistic statement. Garbo used the same perfume because she was obsessed with Motherwell and was copying him. There's no reason the current arsonist would be using such an expensive accelerant if he wasn't deliberately connecting himself to Garbo."

Fraser cleared his throat. "In point of fact, I don't believe that perfume was used in this instance. Instead, the arsonist used a very low-quality men's cologne."

"How can you tell?" Penelope asked, fascinated.

"It's the licking thing," Kowalski said quickly. "It's gross, but it works."

Penelope eyed the area Fraser had licked dubiously. Derek just nodded. "That would be consistent with my profile. Rash, inconsistent, and with a limited budget. Everything in this case points to a juvenile offender. Male, in this case, because he used cologne. A female offender would have used perfume, even if she could only afford cheap perfume."

"You said a teenage boy was seen around your mom's house, right?" Kowalski said with just a hint of aggression.

"Yes," Derek said. He didn't try to defend his profile, which Penelope thought was odd. Then again, he had a lot more experience dealing with law enforcement than she ever would.

Though that reminded her of her own job and she pulled out her PDA. What she found set her to frowning and she immediately started a flurrying of typing. By the time she was done sending out three e-mails and tweaking her search code, she looked up to find all three men staring at her. "Everything okay?" Derek asked.

"Peachy keen!" she said brightly. He didn't look convinced. "It's nothing serious," she sighed. "It's just that my search program for Greta Garbo turned up next to nothing."

"You know she changed her name, right?" Kowalski asked. "Legally. Apparently she 'liked her privacy'."

"That's just it," Penelope said. "It was a legal name change, so there should be paperwork filed for it. Unfortunately, Chicago seems to be way behind on getting into the information age, because the only name change information in the CPD database is from the last fifteen years or so."

"We could just stop in at the City Records office," Fraser offered. "I believe Darlene is still working there."

"And she'd be plenty helpful if Fraser was the one asking," Kowalski added with a smirk.

"I just sent them an e-mail," Penelope said. "But if that doesn't work, I promise to let Ben work his wiles. As long as I get to watch," she added with a leer. Fraser blushed and Penelope and Kowalski exchanged smug smiles.

"Shameless," Derek said with a sigh.

~~~

The car proved to be bomb free—for which Penelope was very grateful—and soon enough they were making their way to Derek's mom's house. The closer they got, the tenser Derek became and Penelope was starting to worry. It couldn't possibly be healthy for muscles to be that tight.

"You sure it's safe for us to go in there?" Kowalski asked as they pulled up to the house. It didn't look that bad from the outside; aside from sooty smudges over most of the window frames, you'd never be able to tell there was a fire there. Still Penelope kept having flashbacks to the raging fire from the night before every time she blinked her eyes and she suspected the inside was probably a nightmare.

"I called the fire chief this morning," Derek said tightly as they stood by the car. "He said the structure was sound. Most of the damage is smoke related."

Which meant that while the house might be salvageable, most of the possessions inside of it, those items that made the house a home, were probably ruined. "Oh, sweetie," Penelope breathed.

He offered up an obviously fake smile. "It's fine." And on that blatant lie, he went inside.

"Men," Penelope sighed, and followed, Fraser and Kowalski on her heels.

Inside the house was far better looking than the Vecchio house had been in that all of the walls seemed to be intact, and the floor didn't creak ominously as they walked on it. Still, every one of the windows on the first floor had been blown out by the fire, most of the furniture was blackened with soot if not outright charred, and the air reeked of smoke. It would take a lot of time, love, and money to make this house livable again.

After a quick, appalled glance around, Penelope kept her eyes on Derek. He was putting a good face on things: steps steady, head held high, eyes moving around the room with studied focus. Still, she saw the way his eyes never landed on any one area for too long and the way he kept putting his hand out as if to touch something, only to pull it away before making contact.

Aching to give him a hug but knowing that wouldn't be accepted at the moment, Penelope settled for standing next to him and eyeing the living room. This was where the firebomb had landed and it had taken most of the damage. "At least no one was home," she offered.

He sighed. "Yeah. I doubt my mom will see it that way, though; this is where she kept all of the photo albums." In a quieter voice he added, "She loved those albums."

"Oh," Penelope said helplessly and, unable to stop herself, she reached out and put a tentative hand on Derek's arm.

Rather than shrug it off, as she'd expected, Derek actually covered her hand with his own. Penelope felt her eyes burn as warmth washed over her. "We'll catch him," she said fiercely. "He won't get away with this."

He nodded sharply, but when he spoke it was to Fraser, who was licking a chunk of blackened wood. "Same accelerant?"

"I believe so."

From where he was standing next to one of the windows, Kowalski added, "And there's glass here, just like at Vecchio's place. Obviously the same perp."

Derek patted Penelope's hand and then gently moved his arm away as he walked over to join Kowalski in staring out the window. Curious, Penelope joined them, only to see them staring at a battered playground covered with a thick layer of litter. Maybe she was missing something. "What are you looking at?"

"A bad neighborhood," Derek said with a sigh. "One where a white teenager would stand out like a sore thumb."

"What are you thinking?" Fraser asked quietly from behind them.

Derek stared a wistfully out the window for a moment longer before turning and walking toward the door. "Come on," he called out behind him. "It's time to give the profile."

~~~

As eager as Derek was to return to the station, Fraser and Kowalski (and Penelope, albeit silently) staged a coup in favor of lunch. They ended up going to a tiny pizza place that both Chicagoans recommended, and at Kowalski's insistence they ordered a Chicago pizza. Penelope was dubious when the pie first came out—it looked more like a casserole than a pizza. Doubt was eliminated at the first bite, however, and she joined in the free-for-all when they were down to the last bite.

Derek did not participate in the free-for-all; in fact he said next to nothing during the meal. Fraser and Kowalski kept the conversation going with an eclectic mix of Inuit tales and stories from when Kowalski was working at the CPD. After hearing about geriatric spies, ghost ships, and bodies walled up _in a police station_ , Penelope decided that Chicago was a very odd place.

Thankfully, Derek started to unclench a bit once they left the restaurant and by the time they were at the precinct he was back to his usual working self: focused, driven, and very confident. As Kowalski gathered everyone together for the profile, Derek stalked back and forth in front of the bullpen. Penelope kept one very appreciative eye on him while the other eye was checking to see if she'd gotten any e-mails.

As it turned out she had gotten an e-mail and her eyes widened as she read it. By the time she was finished reading it twice (it needed to be read at _least_ twice), Derek had already given the initial 'what is profiling' spiel and was down to the details: "The unsub is a white male, between sixteen and twenty years old. He is highly intelligent but does poorly in school; he might even have dropped out. His social skills are minimal and he would not have a girlfriend. His relationship with his parents is likely strained; if he spends much time at home, most of it would be in his room.

"This unsub most likely has antisocial personality disorder and evidence of this will be found in his life. He will have a juvenile arrest record, a history of putting himself and others at risk. As such, he will be unpredictable and dangerous. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Vecchio called from where he was standing to the side. "Any idea who he's going to hit next?"

Derek shook his head. "I can understand your house being a target because you originally arrested Motherwell. My mom's house, on the other hand, is a bit of a stretch. I was only peripherally connected to the case and at the time I wasn't even living at home."

"Maybe he's just running out of places to hit," Kowalski offered. "Fraser and I both live in the middle of nowhere, Canada. Hard place for a teenager to get to."

"And the only other person even remotely connected to the case was Hillerman, who was the booking officer at the time and who retired to Arizona nine years ago," Vecchio added. "He passed away last year."

"Then he's probably going to broaden his victim pool," Derek said grimly. "Random attacks on police officers or stations are most likely, but he might also target schools or firehouses. Any place that has people of authority is in danger."

Vecchio and Kowalski both swore; Fraser looked very stoic. "Wait," Penelope burst out. "It's not all bad news. I found something!"

She immediately had four men crowding in on her and she had to fight not to squirm. This was much easier when doing it over the phone. "Talk to me, babydoll," Derek said.

Penelope frowned at him. "You're not allowed to use that one anymore, remember?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Sorry about that, sweet pea." He lifted an eyebrow in question.

"I like that one," Penelope said, beaming in relief at even a hint of their usual banter. "Sugar."

"You and your sweet tooth," he said in mock exasperation.

A throat cleared and Penelope suddenly remembered that there were quite a few other people standing there. "Right. So it turned out that Greta Garbo was a big fan of changing her name. Before Greta Garbo, she had had her name legally changed to, in most recent to oldest Claudette Colburn, Mae West, Rita Hayworth, and Veronica Lake."

"Damn," Kowalski said.

"What was her original name?" Fraser asked.

"Regina Spitzsucker."

There was a silence.

"I can see why she changed it," Derek said finally.

Penelope couldn't really disagree, so she changed the subject. "I'm running all of the names now." She started typing as results began popping up. "Okay, Regina graduated from Central High School at nineteen; her grades were average and she was held back a year because she missed too many days in her first senior year. She changed her name for the first time three months later. She had drivers licenses in the Greta, Rita, and Veronica names. She filed taxes under the names Rita, Mae, and Claudette; most of her job titles were for janitorial work."

"But how did she know Motherwell?" Kowalski asked, twitching with suppressed energy.

Penelope took a few guesses and found it on her third try. "He went to Central as well; he was three grades ahead of her."

"Can you tell if they knew each other at school?"

She pulled up class schedules and skimmed through them. "No classes together. Motherwell did play football; maybe she was a fan?"

Vecchio's eyebrows shot up. "Zoltan Motherwell played a sport?" he asked incredulously.

"Yep." She pulled up some news archives from the time. "Doesn't look like he was very good, though. He probably didn't play much." More results started popping up from her other searches. "Under the name Claudette Colburn she applied for a home loan and was rejected. Her cash assets at the time of her death were less than a thousand dollars; without any living next of kin or a will in place, the state eventually claimed the assets. Oh."

"Oh?" Veccho repeated.

"Claudette Colburn had a child. A boy. He'd be eighteen years old now."

"That's the right age," Derek commented. "Any idea who the father is?"

"No name listed on the birth certificate, but the boy was born about six months after Motherwell set his first fire."

"The first three Motherwell fires were instances of insurance fraud," Fraser said. "He'd used most of his inheritance from his parents to set up two studios and his art never proved popular. He was nearly penniless when he set the first fire."

"And having a baby's expensive," Vecchio said. Everyone turned to look at him. "What? Frannie's had six of them."

"So Motherwell set the first two fires for the money," Kowalski said. "And apparently liked it enough that he started setting more fires for the fun of it."

"And he got sloppy, which was how Fraser and I caught him," Vecchio said.

"How did you catch him?" Derek asked. "It didn't sound like there was much evidence at the scenes."

"He bought too much of the perfume at one time," Vecchio said. "Department stores remember it when a guy comes in and buys two cases of perfume."

Derek frowned. "That's pretty disorganized behavior for someone who managed to set four fires without leaving evidence on-site."

"Maybe Greta was cleaning up after him," Kowalski said. "We only caught her when she came after us directly. If I hadn't been wearing a vest, she probably would have just killed me and Fraser and gotten away clean."

"So you're saying the boy is like his father?" Penelope offered.

"It appears so," Fraser said. "If he is our arsonist."

"Only one way to find out," Vecchio said. "What happened to him?"

Penelope started digging. A minute later she frowned. "It looks like he was taken by the state for neglect when he was three. She was leaving him at home alone when she went to work every day." She checked the dates and felt her stomach drop. "Two months later the case worker assigned to the case died in a fire."

Fraser and Kowalski glanced at each other. "We didn't know about that," Kowalski said.

"It was ruled an accident," Penelope said, skimming the report. "Gas leak. No mention of perfume."

"Still, the timing is very suspicious," Fraser said.

"What happened to the boy after he was taken by the state?" Derek asked, doggedly dragging them back on topic.

Penelope frowned and typed. "Looks like he was adopted by his foster parents, Steve and Ginger Thompson." Her eyebrows raised. "Crap. The Thompsons reported their son, Ralph, missing three days ago."

"That was the day my house burned," Vecchio snarled.

"Time to talk to the Thompsons," Kowalski said. "I'm driving."

He started out of the bullpen, Fraser at his side. Derek followed for a couple of steps, then stopped and looked back at Penelope. "Aren't you coming?"

Penelope thought about how the morning went. "Maybe I should just stay here," she hedged.

Derek considered her for a moment and maybe she imagined it, but Penelope thought she saw a flash of remorse in his eyes. "Actually, I think you'll be a huge help in this interview. If you want to come. It's not part of your job." He held out his hand.

Penelope beamed and took it. "Anything for you, sugar."

They smiled at each other for a few moments until Vecchio cleared his throat pointedly. "So I'm guessing the single room isn't a problem?"

Penelope felt her cheeks warm, but just sent him an arch look and let Derek pull her out of the chair. As they walked out of the bullpen he wrapped an arm around her shoulder; Penelope felt like she was flying.

~~~

This time the drive was much more relaxed and most of it was spent deciding who would do what when they reached their destination. Fortunately it appeared that Vecchio had somehow produced a temporary badge for Kowalski, so he and Fraser were going to go door to door in the neighborhood to see what folks thought of Ralph.

While they were doing that, Derek and Penelope would talk to the Thompsons. Well, Derek would talk to the Thompsons. Penelope's job was to search Ralph's room and computer once Derek talked the Thompsons into giving her permission. "You sure you're up for it?" Derek asked after making that announcement.

"Up for snooping?" Penelope asked incredulously. "You're asking if _I_ am up for _snooping_?"

"Okay, okay," Derek laughed. "Point made."

Penelope was smugly pleased to note that he was still smiling a little when they pulled into an upscale, but not rich neighborhood. "This it?" Derek asked, his smile unfortunately being sacrificed to his usual serious working expression.

"About three houses down," Kowalski said. "I'm going to park here so they don't see me and Fraser heading for a neighbor's house."

"Good plan," Derek said, getting out of the car and holding the door for Penelope as she slid over to do the same. "Meet up at the car when you're done?"

Kowalski just waved a hand and grunted. Fraser winced and added, "We'll be waiting. Unless, of course, you finish first, in which case we will see you upon our return."

Penelope and Derek watched him go. "It must be really exhausting to be him," Derek commented.

"At least he's pretty," Penelope answered.

Derek rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. "Come on, Ms. Shameless."

"Whatever you say, Captain Tightpants."

~~~

The Thompsons' house was a large, attractive edifice in the same way that every house on the block was large and attractive. It had the same color scheme as the other houses, the same brick pattern, and the same landscaping. The only scrap of individuality, in fact, was a small, slightly sloppy wreath on the door. It looked handmade and didn't appear to be connected to any specific holiday. Penelope was willing to be that Mrs. Thompson dabbled in arts and crafts.

The Thompsons themselves were as generically attractive as their house. Both were of average height, brown-haired, and slightly overweight. Both looked strained and tired but neither looked like they'd been crying lately. When Derek introduced both himself and (to her surprise) Penelope as FBI agents, Steve Thompson asked, "Is he dead then?" He didn't sound like she would be surprised if the answer was yes.

Derek and Penelope exchanged a look. "No," Derek said. "Actually, we think someone might have seen him just yesterday."

The Thompsons both brightened up at that, so maybe they weren't a completely lost cause. "Where?" Ginger Thompson asked eagerly. "Is he okay?"

"The boy that was seen appeared physically fine," Derek said smoothly. "But we still need to get more information to confirm identity, which is why Agent Garcia and I are here." He turned to Ginger and offered up a reassuring smile. "Would you mind if Agent Garcia looked through your son's room while I asked you some questions? We don't want to miss anything."

"That's fine," Ginger said, sounding a little dazed by the smile. Penelope couldn't blame her; she was a little dazzled just from seeing the smile pointed at someone else. "It's upstairs, third door on the right."

"You still haven't said where Ralphie was seen," Steve said insistently, leaning forward now with a level of intensity that Penelope thought was a little odd. Then again, his son _was_ missing; maybe this was how most parents reacted. Not for the first time that morning, Penelope thought that Derek would have been better off if he actually had a BAU agent with him, rather than one fabulously dressed technical analyst.

At any rate, she was more than happy to leave the questioning of the parents to Derek while she went upstairs to check out Ralph's room. Derek had drilled her on what to do on their way over, not that she needed the help; if there was one thing being a teenager had taught her, it was how to be sneaky. Which was why the first thing she checked after turning the laptop on to boot was the air vent just above the floorboard.

Only to find nothing but air. Nonplussed, she looked between the mattress and the box spring on the bed and checked the edges of the carpeting to see if any of it was loose. Nothing there either.

Well, poo. Fortunately at that moment she heard the familiar sound of Windows loading and she hurried over to the computer. She'd find something here, at least.

Ralph was apparently a fairly computer savvy kid—it took Penelope nearly a dozen tries to guess his log-in password. He didn't really bother much with security after that, however, and by the time Derek came looking for her, she was full of information and deeply horrified. Unfortunately the Thompsons came up with Derek, so Penelope did her best to force out a smile and quickly closed the laptop. "Mind if I take this with me? I, uh, found a few promising leads."

"That's fine," Ginger said wearily. Steve didn't look much better; Derek must've told them where Ralph was last seen. Maybe even what he was last seen doing, though Penelope doubted they'd just let her waltz off with their son's laptop if they knew he was an arson suspect.

Derek thanked the Thompsons and hustled Penelope out the door and in the direction of the car. As soon as they hit the sidewalk, Penelope was babbling, "I found something. Well, a lot of somethings, because our boy Ralph is one sick puppy, but..."

"Hey," Kowalski interrupted. Apparently they'd reached the car. "Find anything useful? 'Cause Fraser and I got a lot. Ralph isn't right in the head."

"Let's talk about it in the car," Derek said tersely. "Because I guarantee that there's at least one person staring at us right now through their curtains."

"Most likely Mrs. Wellington," Fraser said as he moved to the other side of the car and opened the door. "I noticed that she had a pair of binoculars sitting next to her window."

"And she had a _lot_ of dirt on Ralph," Kowalski added. "Including the fact that he liked to find hiding places outside and play with matches."

"A lot of kids do that," Derek said, though from his tone Penelope would guess that he was just playing devil's advocate.

"Yeah, but do those kids use those matches to burn small animals?" Kowalski shot back. "While they're still alive?"

Penelope winced. "People knew he was burning small animals to death and didn't do anything about it?"

"The evidence against Ralph is mostly circumstantial," Fraser said. "But the preponderance of it is compelling."

"Just wait till you hear what I found on his laptop," Penelope said. "Starting with his password: Zoltan666."

"So he knew, or at least suspected, that Motherwell might be his father," Derek said, not sounding happy about it.

"It gets worse." Penelope opened the laptop and entered the password; the site she'd been looking at before the Thompsons had interrupted her was still on the screen and she showed it to the others.

Kowalski whistled. "I didn't know the Anarchist's Cookbook was online these days."

Derek was frowning. "That has to be a flagged site. If he was looking at it regularly, Homeland Security would've been watching him."

"They probably would have, if he was using his parent's internet connection," Penelope said. "But his top three preferred wireless networks were the mall, a coffee shop, and the Mick family, which I'm guessing is one of his neighbors."

"They live next door to the Thompsons," Fraser confirmed. "And their dog disappeared about six months ago."

Derek was shaking his head. "Something's wrong here. A disorganized arsonist wouldn't be careful enough to hide his online tracks this well."

"So you think your profile is wrong?" Kowalski asked.

"Maybe," Derek said, sounding unconvinced. "But an organized arsonist would have been more careful with his fires, making sure that the buildings he was targeting actually burned. To an arsonist, the fire is everything. A building that didn't burn would be considered a failure."

"Maybe he's not an arsonist?" Penelope offered.

"Or maybe there's two people involved," Fraser suggested. "One organized and one disorganized."

"Or maybe this whole family is whacked and profiling doesn't work on them," Ray said. "Didn't you say that neither Garbo nor Motherwell fit the profile of an arsonist?"

"Motherwell wasn't too far off, but Garbo was a stretch," Derek conceded. "Profiles work on averages. By definition that means that there will always be outliers."

An unpleasant silence settled over the car. "So what's next?" Penelope asked when she couldn't take it anymore. "Besides me going through the rest of this laptop."

"I want to go through the Motherwell and Garbo case files," Derek said. "If our unsub researched them, there might be something there that'll help with the current case."

"Fraser and I'll go door to door in Vecchio's neighborhood," Kowalski offered. "Now that we have a picture of the perp, we can see if anyone saw him." He glanced at Derek through the rearview mirror. "You did get a picture of the perp, right?"

Derek passed up a picture, but didn't say anything. He looked lost in his thoughts and Penelope kept a worried eye out for him even as she started digging through the contents of Ralph Thompson's laptop. The sooner they caught this psycho, the better.

~~~

Penelope and Derek worked on their respective projects until around seven, when Vecchio tossed them out. Penelope had spent much of that time sneaking surreptitious glances at Derek, who was being even more stoic and silent than usual. It wasn't such a problem at the station, which was full and bustling—most cops worked a later shift than the average nine-to-five employee since that's when the criminals were working; according to Frannie the station was pretty dead in the mornings—but when it was just Penelope and Derek in the car, driving around looking for a restaurant, the silence was pretty deafening.

"You okay?" Penelope finally asked.

Derek sighed and pulled into spot near an Olive Garden. In the back of her mind, Penelope wondered if that's where they'd been headed since they left the station and, if so, if Derek knew it was one of her favorites.

"I'm sorry," he said as they got out of the car. "It's just this case—it's not making any sense."

"So I'm guessing looking over the Motherwell and Garbo files didn't help," Penelope said, sympathetically.

"They helped a little," Derek conceded. "The more I look at Motherwell, the more I think he fit the arsonist profile. The only significant deviation is his age, but age isn't something we usually focus on with arsonists.

"Garbo, on the other hand, wasn't an arsonist at all; I'm not even sure she was a sociopath. I think she was just a very, very angry woman looking for revenge. From an outside perspective, though, especially for a teenager who only had access to news archives, I'm sure she looked like an arsonist."

"And that's why Ralph is using fire," Penelope guessed.

"Exactly," Derek said, unwinding enough to smile at her as he held open the door to the restaurant. Penelope beamed back.

They stayed silent till they were seated. Once the waiter was out of earshot, Penelope asked, "So is that why his fires are so sloppy? He doesn't really care about them?"

Derek nodded. "According to Fraser and Kowalski, animals have been going missing from the neighborhood for years, but Mrs. Wellington has only seen Ralph playing with matches for a couple of months."

"Which is about the time he found out who his parents were," Penelope said. "Pity the Department of Family Services isn't as behind on its database entry as the Court of Records. Though their security isn't bad; Ralph did a pretty good job with the hack." She was interrupted when their waiter came and they placed their order. Once he was gone, she asked, "So you think finding out about his parents was the triggering event?"

"Maybe," Derek said. "But that age and with all of the risk factors he had, Ralph didn't need to be triggered. He just needed an excuse."

"Maybe he wanted his parents to be that excuse," Penelope offered. "And that's why he went looking for them."

"Could be," Derek said.

They drifted in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts as they made their way through the salad and breadsticks. Penelope finally sighed. "Derek..."

Derek looked up from his entrée at her hesitation. "What's up, sweet thing?"

She smiled a bit at the name and made herself say it: "Do you think some people are just born bad?"

"Nature versus nurture," Derek said with a bit of a smirk. Penelope smiled back; he hadn't been relaxed enough to smirk at her in days. "Everyone has that question after a few cases. The honest answer is, though—it's usually a little bit of both. There is some evidence that genetics play a part in antisocial personality disorder, but there are plenty of unsubs with no family history of the disorder."

"So Ralph?"

"His genes didn't help," Derek conceded. "But then, neither did being left along for long periods of time when he was a baby. And the Thompsons were definitely hiding something. I bet there was some psychological abuse in the home." Derek took a quick glance around, then leaned forward a bit. "Penelope, is there a reason why you're asking about this?"

Penelope closed her eyes briefly. Well, it was her own fault for trying to sneakily grill a profiler. "Not really?" she lied hopefully.

Derek's eyes narrowed for a moment, but he nodded. "Okay."

Which meant he was letting this go. Penelope heaved a sign of relief and ate with considerably more enthusiasm.

By the time they left the restaurant, however, she was starting to realize that she'd made a mistake. Derek was obviously doing his best to act like being shut out didn't matter, but the banter didn't flow quite as smoothly as before and he wasn't using nearly as many endearments.

"Okay, I'll tell you," she said once they were in the car.

"You don't have to," Derek said, but he didn't meet her eyes as he said it.

"I want to," Penelope said, which was true, with a caveat. "As long as you promise to tell me something equally personal in return."

Derek stared at her for a moment, and Penelope held her breath. This was a risk, she knew, but she'd thought a lot about it over dinner and she thought it was the right decision. She and Derek had been in a strange sort of relationship limbo for years—too close to be called casual acquaintances, but not quite close enough to spend time together outside of work. It wasn't a bad relationship and to some extent it worked for them, but the fact was... Penelope wanted more. Really she wanted a _lot_ more—it would be so damn easy to fall in love with Derek—but if nothing else she wanted real friendship. The kind of friendship that meant she could drop by his place, not just because he was out on a case and needed someone to water his plants, but because she wanted to hang out. The kind of friendship where they did things together and talked about serious issues that didn't relate to serial killers and where she could know he played football in high school without cyberstalking him. The sort of relationship that was only possible with someone who understood you and knew you inside and out.

She thought she understood Derek and she knew that he understood her. But that just wasn't enough without the _knowing_.

They pulled out into the street and were halfway to the hotel before Derek finally said, "Okay."

Penelope slumped with relief. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Derek said quietly. "When we get back to the room."

Which wasn't ideal, because they were at least twenty minutes away and Penelope was already nervous, but she was already pushing pretty hard so she just nodded and said, "Okay."

An interminable, and yet not really all that long, stretch of time later, they finally managed to get to the hotel. The first thing Derek did when he went into the room was to go to the mini-bar. Penelope winced—definitely not a good sign—but didn't protest when he handed her a rum and coke. "You want me to go first?" she asked after taking a good-sized swallow of liquid courage.

Derek shrugged as he settled into an armchair across from the couch Penelope was sitting on. "Sure."

Dammit, he was back to being closed off and uncommunicative. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all. They'd gone too far to quit, though, so Penelope took another gulp and began. "You know I have a step-dad, right?" Derek nodded, but didn't say anything. "My dad and my mom divorced when I was eight. I haven't seen my birth father since." Though she knew he was in Kansas City doing construction work, not that Derek needed that information.

"I'm sorry," Derek said, but it sounded less like a sincere offer and more like a placeholder. He knew she had more to say.

Penelope took a shaky breath and one more gulp of her drink before she was able to blurt out: "Derek, I think he killed someone."

Derek sat upright at that, suddenly all profiler. "Why do you think that?" he asked carefully as he set his drink aside.

"I don't—it's a memory. I think it's a memory, but it's so hazy it could've been a dream." She abruptly lifted her glass and drained it, coughing at the rush of carbonation and rum. "I was young," she said quickly, trying to get it all out before she lost her courage. "We were living in a small house with a dirt basement. One night I went down to play with my paints and I saw my dad digging a hole in the floor. There was a bag next to him, a big bag, and... and there was hair coming out of one side of it."

Derek got up and sat next to Penelope, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay. It was a long time ago. You're okay now."

Penelope just shook her head and picked up her glass. Her hands were shaking enough to make the ice inside clink, however, and she put it back down. "Like I said, I don't remember much. But I know that at some point a concrete floor was put down in the basement. And I know my mom didn't so much divorce my dad as leave him in the middle of the night with nothing more than a single suitcase and me."

"Damn," Derek said, and his other arm came up so that he was hugging her. Hugging her and rocking her gently. Penelope closed her eyes and did her best to be soothed.

"Did you or your mom ever go to the police?" Derek asked after a few minutes.

"No," Penelope said, relieved that her voice came out sounding relatively calm. "I thought about it when I got older, but I couldn't find any record of a missing person in the area. We lived in a small town; if someone went missing it would have been reported." She shifted in Derek's arms, in a sort of half-hearted shrug. "I figured I'd just imagined it."

"But you're still scared of him."

Unable to speak, Penelope pressed her lips together and nodded.

"I don't know about your dad," Derek said, holding her even tighter. "But I do know something about Penelope Garcia. And one thing I know for sure is that she isn't a killer. No matter what's in your genes, you are the sweetest person I know."

Of course, that's when she started crying. "Oh, Penelope," Derek said softly, rocking her some more. "It's okay. You're okay."

When Penelope finally cried herself out, she sniffled and slowly sat up. "Wow," she said, wiping her eyes and trying not to think what her mascara looked like right now. "I guess I needed that."

Derek just smiled and kissed her on the forehead. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Feeling limp and exhausted, Penelope just watched him go. A moment later she heard the sound of water running, and then Derek returned with a damp washcloth in hand. "Here."

Smiling gratefully, Penelope took the cloth and rubbed her face until the warmth of the cloth had dissipated. Then she held it to her eyes for a few moments and let the coolness soothe her swollen lids.

"Feel better?" Derek asked when she finally lowered the cloth.

"Much," Penelope said, managing a shaky smile. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," he said, sounding like he meant it. He reached out invitingly with one arm and Penelope gratefully slid under it. "So," he said after they had cuddled for a few seconds. "I guess it's my turn."

Penelope winced. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Actually, I think it's time," Derek said, sounding thoughtful. "I've never told this to anyone before."

Despite her best intentions, Penelope found herself getting curious. "Oh?"

Derek nodded; she could feel the gesture as it brushed his cheek against her forehead. A moment later she felt his chest swell as he took a breath and Penelope had to close her eyes for a second and remind herself that this was a serious discussion and thus not at all a time for her to be thinking about just how good it felt to be held in Derek's arms.

"You know what happened when I was a kid," Derek said. "About what C-" He cleared his throat. "About what Carl did to me."

Penelope looked up, all lascivious thoughts gone. "Yes. I'm sorry."

He smiled without humor. "Actually, you knowing makes this easier to say." He glanced down and kissed her on the forehead again before saying baldly, "I've never been on a second date with a woman."

Penelope blinked. "What?" Before he could answer, she sat up. He immediately tried to pull his arm away, but she claimed his hand before it got out of reach and held it in both of hers. "Why not?"

Derek kept his eyes pointed toward the opposite wall as he said, "Because no one expects sex on the first date. Hopes for it, maybe, but doesn't expect it."

Penelope's eyes opened very wide as she thought about the implications. "Oh," she said softly. "But... I thought Reid said you were a playboy."

"I'm sure it looks that way to him," Derek said. "I go out on a lot of dates."

"He thinks you're sleeping with them all," Penelope said. "But you're not." She shook her head, not quite able to believe it. "None of them?"

"I manage it a few times when I was younger," Derek said. "Not recently. Not in years." He attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "I can't even masturbate."

"Hm," Penelope said, shifting over until she was leaning against Derek again. His smile grew more natural as she draped his arm over her shoulder and she felt a tiny fissure of pleasure deep inside. "Well, I'm not a psychologist, but I think these things take time. Have you considered staying with one woman for a while and working on it together?"

"I've thought about it," Derek said. "But what woman would put up with that?"

"Are you kidding?" Penelope smacked him awkwardly. "You're hot, you're sweet, you're polite, and you have to beat women off with a stick. Just pick the one you like best; you'll make her day."

"Really?" Derek asked. "The woman I like best?"

Penelope felt a pang, wondering who he was thinking of as he spoke with that soft tone of voice. "Yeah," she said softly. "Just ask her. Whoever she is, I know she'll say yes."

Derek twisted around, pulling his arm away from Penelope's shoulders. She sighed and blinked a couple of times to get rid of the stinging in her eyes, but when she turned to Derek she made sure that her face showed nothing but support. "Penelope," he said, taking one of her hands.

"Yes?" she asked, determined to be a good friend, no matter what he asked of her.

"Will you go out with me?"

Her jaw dropped a little and the stinging in her eyes returned full force. "Really?" she asked, clutching Derek's hand tightly. "Me?"

He smiled back at her, looking a little helpless. "I thought you knew," he said. "It's always been you."

Penelope shook her head. "I'd dreamed about it, but— Oh, come here, you," she said, pulling him into tight hug.

"I guess that's a yes," Derek said as he hugged her back, his voice full of wonder and happiness.

"Oh, my god, yes," she said, squeezing him even tighter. "Heck yes!"

"Good," he said, sounding amused. "Just—just don't expect much at first, okay?"

She sniffed and pulled away so he could see her smile. "Right now all I expect is some more hugging. And maybe a kiss or two."

Derek smiled back and while the obvious relief in his eyes hurt her a bit, the love and happiness there more than made up for it. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "I can definitely do that."

They grinned at each other for a moment, then Derek pulled Penelope right back into another hug. "You have no idea how happy I feel right now," he murmured next to her ear.

"Oh, I think I do," Penelope said, her heart feel full to bursting. "Because I feel the exact same way."

He squeezed her in acknowledgement and she felt a tiny drop of wet warmth fall on her neck. Penelope didn't mind. She was crying, too. This time, however, the tears were of happiness.

~~~

The next morning, Penelope felt like she was walking on air as she entered the precinct. Admittedly she and Derek hadn't done much in the way of kissing last night as they'd both been emotionally drained. Still, they'd slept on the same bed, cuddled together like two puppies huddling for warmth, and Penelope had never been happier.

Unfortunately it took less than a minute for her to come crashing down to earth. "Good, you're here," Vecchio said as they walked into a maelstrom. "Someone just called in a bomb threat to Central High School."

Derek swore. "That's the school Motherwell and Garbo went to."

"Exactly," Kowalski said, coming up next to them with Fraser at his side. "Gotta be our boy, right?"

"Yeah," Derek said grimly. "Problem is, the target might not even be the school. He might be planning on hitting the responders."

"Copies of Thompson's picture have already been distributed," Vecchio said. "We're sending everyone we've got; somebody'll see him."

"What about other precincts?" Derek asked.

"SWAT's coming with us," Vecchio said. "Other precincts are deploying to cover potential targets around the city."

Derek nodded. "I'll go with you to the school." He glanced over at Penelope.

"I'll stay here," she said instantly.

"Thanks," he said, nodding sharply before turning and walking out, Kowalski and Fraser at his side.

Frannie came up with a Kevlar vest in hand. "I don't think you should go," she told Vecchio.

He took the vest. "It's my job, Frannie. Something big like this, they expect to see someone with rank."

Frannie opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally she said with a scowl, "I don't like it."

"I know," Vecchio said. "Don't worry, I'll be safe." He kissed her on the cheek. "Stay inside, okay? I'll call as soon as we got the guy."

"Okay, bro. Be careful. Stella'll kill you if you get hurt."

He grinned and strapped on his gun. "I'll be fine. See you soon." With that, he hurried after the others.

Penelope watched him go with a wistful feeling. She wished Derek had kissed her goodbye, even if it was on the cheek.

"He's taken," Frannie said.

Penelope blinked. "What?"

"Ray. He's married."

Penelope laughed, but quickly stopped when she saw Frannie's face. "Uh, sorry. It's just, I'm taken, too." The thought gave her a flush of warmth.

"Ah," Frannie said knowingly. "Tall, dark, and hottie?"

"Yeah," Penelope said, feeling a bit smug. Derek was all those things and more.

"He is cute," Frannie said, settling down on the chair next to the desk Penelope had claimed. "Not quite as cute as Fraser, though."

"Fraser's handsome," Penelope said neutrally.

"Just think," Frannie said with a wistful sigh. "Fraser and Ray up in Canada. Snowed in. Just the one bed."

Penelope had to admit that was a pretty compelling thought. But not as compelling as the thought of Derek coming out of the shower with nothing but a slightly too small towel around his waist. Better yet, now there was a good chance she could make the latter one happen. "Is it just us here?"

"I bet Sergeant Allred is at the front desk," Frannie said. She lit up. "I wonder if he wants any company?"

Penelope grinned as Frannie wandered off, then turned back to Ralph's computer. There had to be something useful in here.

An hour later she hadn't found anything of use—though several of the files Ralph had labeled as documents were really porn videos in disguise—and decided it was time for a coffee break. Unfortunately she couldn't leave the building, but she was withdrawing enough that even crappy police precinct coffee had some appeal.

Following her nose, she wandered off in the direction of burnt coffee grounds and sure enough she found the break room. Oddly, enough, however, she wasn't alone. "Um, hello?" she said to the skinny man who was currently crouched down near the floor. It looked like he was reaching for something deep in the cabinets. The moment Penelope spoke, however, the man's head jerked up and slammed into the cabinet above him.

"Fuck!" he shouted, pulling out and grabbing the back of his head. He turned around and Penelope gasped.

It was Ralph Thompson.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked.

"G-garcia," she stuttered, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. "I'm in-in tech support." There, that sounded a little better. "Uh, who are you?"

Ralph's eyes narrowed. Suddenly he reached behind him and pulled out a gun. "You know who I am," he said accusingly.

Penelope yelped and held up her hands, flashing back to the last time she'd had a gun pointed at her. That time she'd gotten shot. This time, however, the sight of the gun wasn't immediately followed by a bullet and she slowly lowered her hands. "You know who I am," Ralph repeated.

"I-I do," Penelope admitted. "Ralph, right?" He scowled and nodded. "How did you get in here?"

"Parking lot door," he said. "No one was in the guard house." He smiled unpleasantly. "Guess my diversion worked."

It certainly had, Penelope thought, feeling a little sick. Was there anyone else even in the building besides her, Frannie, and the desk sergeant?

"Come on, time to go," Ralph said, and he gestured with the gun.

Not sure what else to do, Penelope turned. As she did so, she felt a weight in her jacket pocket bump into her and her heart started racing. Her phone! How did she forget she had her phone on her?

Feeling a bit more confident now, she worked up the nerve to ask, "What's your plan here, Ralph? Are you planning to set fire to the station?"

Ralph snorted. "Not likely. The fires were just to get those assholes back into town."

Assholes. Which—oh. "You mean Fraser and Kowalski."

"And that black guy. He was the really important one."

"Why?" Penelope asked, genuinely baffled now. "Fraser and Kowalski are the ones who arrested your mom." And Vecchio arrested his dad, though if he didn't remember or care about that fact Penelope wasn't about to remind him.

"Because he hurt her!" the boy burst out. Penelope heard rustling noises and carefully inched back around so that she could see what Ralph was doing.

Apparently what he was doing was pulling out a newspaper clipping, which he held out to her. "See?"

Reaching out tentatively, she took the clipping. It turned out to be a grainy picture of four people. In the background were Fraser and Kowalski, both looking a little worse for wear. In the foreground was Derek in uniform, pushing down on a woman's head as he maneuvered her into a squad car.

Her first, irrational, thought was that Derek looked damn good in uniform.

Her second thought was: "What do you mean he's hurting her?"

"Look at the way he's shoving her into the car," the boy snapped.

Penelope looked again and shook her head. "He's just making sure she doesn't hit her head. He's trying to keep her from getting hurt."

Ralph snatched the clipping back, nearly tearing it in the process. "You're just like all the others. You're on _his_ side."

"I don't have sides," Penelope said quickly as the gun came back up again. "Really, I swear. I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Too bad," Ralph said with a sneer. "Now move. We're going to the front desk."

Penelope bit back a whimper and headed for the front desk. Hopefully the sergeant would provide enough of a distraction that she could place a call to Derek.

Unfortunately, Sergeant Allred was so caught up in the charms of Frannie that he never even saw them coming and soon enough he was trussed to a support beam with his own handcuffs. Ralph gestured for Penelope and Frannie to stand next to him where he could cover them both with the gun while he sat down at the radio. "How do I call out to the cops outside?" he asked Allred.

Allred looked wary. "Why do you want to do that?"

"None of your fucking business," Ralph retorted.

Still looking suspicious, but clearly thinking that information going out was a good thing overall, Allred started walking him through the dispatch process. Penelope waited until Ralph looked good and distracted before easing herself a little behind Frannie and using that cover to pull out her phone. First thing she did was set it to silent. Then she sent out a text to Derek:

 _ralph here_

Finally, just as Ralph's attention turned away from Allred, she quickly dialed Derek and tucked the phone in her pocket. Desperately hoping that Derek picked up, she said, "Maybe I can help, Ralph. What're you trying to do?"

"Stay back!" Ralph shouted. "I don't need any help."

"Okay, okay," Penelope said hastily. "Whatever you say, Ralph."

He scowled at her. "Why do you keep saying my name?"

"N-no reason." He lifted his gun and she added in a higher tone, "I'm just nervous, that's all!"

Ralph stared at her for a moment, then put the gun back down. Toggling on the radio he said, "Attention all you jackbooted bastards out there. While you were running around chasing ghosts, I raided the henhouse. Stay away or the bitches get it!"

Penelope closed her eyes in pain. Clearly Ralph's mental illness had spread to the language part of his brain.

The radio immediately started going wild, but Ralph turned it off and then proceeded to beat it to pieces with Allred's gun.

"My brother's going to kill you," Frannie said matter-of-factly as the radio was thoroughly demolished. "My fake brother, too." Off Penelope's questioning look, she added, "Ray Kowalski."

"Oh," Penelope said, not sure what to do with that. Turning back to Ralph, she asked, "Why are you getting everyone to come back to the station?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ralph said, though his words were belied by his sly smile. "I told everyone to stay away, didn't I?"

Shitake. The boy was clearly lying, though why... "You have a bomb here," Penelope realized, aghast. "That's what you were doing in the break room."

Ralph's face turned ugly. "Shut the fuck up."

Penelope opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again after a second. If she pushed any harder, she was pretty sure she'd get hurt and Derek would never forgive her if she got shot again.

Ralph turned to Allred. "Where can I find more handcuffs?" he snapped out.

"Not here," Allred said. "Officers carry their own."

"I don't believe you," Ralph said, and he shot Allred in the leg.

Penelope screamed. She was pretty sure Frannie screamed, too, though Frannie retained enough presence of mind to run forward and put pressure on Allred's wound. "Penelope, behind you!" Frannie called out. "First aid kit."

Penelope spun around and searched the counter. From the corner of her eye she saw Ralph looking stunned, but also a little pleased with himself. Her heart gave a little terrified skip at the sight; this situation was getting worse by the second.

Finally Penelope found what she was looking for and she hurried over to Frannie's side with it. "What do you need?"

"Gauze pads," Frannie said with a level of calm that Penelope could only envy. "Then tell me what else is in the kit."

Penelope found two pads inside and passed them both over. Unfortunately the rest of the kit was equally scanty: "Looks like there's latex gloves, some disinfecting wipes, Tylenol, bandaids, and a sling."

Frannie swore. "Hand me the sling." It took several minutes of careful maneuvering, but between her and Penelope they managed to get the sling wrapped around the leg to hold the gauze in place. They couldn't get it tied tight enough, however, and after a moment Frannie clamped her hand down on the leg, gauze and sling included. "We need to get him to a hospital," she gritted in Ralph's direction.

"Not happening," Ralph said. Penelope was disturbed to see that his eyes were dilated and his cheeks flushed. She'd bet anything that he was tenting his pants.

"RALPH THOMPSON."

The voice boomed through the air and everyone in the room jumped. Ralph spun towards the big glass doors that led outside and Penelope took advantage of his distraction to scoot out of sight and pull out her phone. Without even bothering to figure out which side was up, she held the whole phone near her mouth and whispered as quickly as she could: "Three hostages, one down with bullet in the leg. One perp, with a gun. Revolver, I think. There's a bomb in here somewhere, probably in the break room. We're near the front desk an—"

" _Shit_!" Ralph shouted and Penelope shoved her phone back into her jacket. Creeping around the edge of the counter she saw Ralph had closed the blinds and was now staring out the window through a couple of the leavers.

"RALPH THOMPSON, I AM SERGEANT BENTON FRASER OF THE ROYAL CANADIAN MOUNTED POLICE. PLEASE RELEASE YOUR HOSTAGES AND SURRENDER YOUR WEAPON."

Penelope and Frannie exchanged a look and then Penelope broke down in slightly hysterical giggles. Frannie just sighed. "That's Fraser, all right."

"Is this fucking guy for real?" Ralph asked incredulously. "And how did they get here so fast?"

Penelope had to admit she was wondering that herself, but she was willing to bet Derek had something to do with it. Maybe he'd looked around the school and seen that it left the rest of the area open; maybe he'd realized that everyone Ralph had targeted so far had been at the 27th precinct and had drawn the right conclusion. Whatever the reason, she was grateful.

"RALPH, WE ARE CALLING YOU ON THE RADIO. PLEASE RESPOND."

Ralph screamed at the window, " _The radio's fucking gone, motherfucker!_ "

There was no response to that, and after a moment Ralph started pacing. Penelope scooted a little closer to Frannie and whispered, "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing here," Frannie hissed. "But if you could somehow get the blinds open so the snipers can see—"

"Snipers?" Penelope repeated blankly.

"Yeah," Frannie said looking at her oddly. "Even if the SWAP guys aren't here, Ray Kowalski is a sharpshooter. Well," she added, "so's Fraser, but he's got this thing about not carrying guns outside of Canada."

Penelope tried to absorb all of that. Intellectually she knew they were in a hostage situation that had just turned into a hostage stand off. Still, with everything moving so fast, their perilous position really hadn't had a chance to sink in. The idea of snipers, however, and hostage negotiators, and—Penelope frowned. "What's 'swap'?"

"Hm?" Frannie asked as she checked to see if Allred was still bleeding. He was, and his face was growing increasingly pale. They couldn't afford for this to be a long-term standoff. "Oh, you know," Frannie said once she'd pressed her hand back down on the leg. "Those special forces guys. With the big guns and the sexy armor."

"You mean SWAT?" Penelope guessed.

"SWAP, SWAT, SWAB. Whatever. You know what I mean."

Penelope nodded absently, trying to think about what she'd learned about SWAT from Derek's comments and Reid's random bouts of verbal diarrhea and tried very hard not to think about how SWAT usually behaved in the movies. "If SWAT's here, they've probably already surrounded the building," Penelope murmured. "And they'll probably come in the back door." Which meant that it was doubly important that Penelope opened the blinds, because otherwise the sniper wouldn't be able to cover the good guys through the windows in the front door.

Suddenly a phone started ringing. " _Fuck_!" Ralph shouted. "Whose phone is that?"

"I-I think it's the one on the desk," Penelope offered, desperately hoping he'd take her word for it. If he searched them for phones, she was dead.

Ralph picked up the phone and shouted into it, " _What?_ " He listened to the other person speaking and, judging from the way Ralph's face was getting progressively more red, Penelope guessed that it was Fraser on the other side of the line. When his face was starting to turn purple, he snarled, "You know nothing about my mother. _Nothing_." More listening. Abruptly his face lost most of his redness and his lips curled up in a satisfied smile. "SWAT's gotta do what SWAT's gotta do," he said into the phone before hanging it up and unplugging it. "And so do I," he added with a smirk, pulling out a cell phone.

Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. Penelope may never have been on a bomb squad like Derek, but even she knew that cell phones could be used to trigger a bomb. She had to get those blinds up before SWAT got in or they were all going to die.

Motioning for Frannie to not say anything, Penelope crawled backwards until she was pressed up against the counter, out of Ralph's line of sight. Moving as silently as she could, she made her way to the edge of the counter and peeked around. There was Ralph, completely lost in his own world with his cell phone. And there, about ten feet away, was the rope to pull up the blinds.

Only, now what? If Penelope pulled up the blinds now, Ralph would just let them down again. And shoot her in the process, probably. But they needed to be up when SWAT came in, or Ralph would just trigger the bombs and they would all die.

Damn it, she should have told Derek about the cell phone before she came closer to Ralph. Now she couldn't say anything without tipping him off.

Suddenly Ralph cocked an ear, and a sly smile spread across his face. "'Come to my web,' said the spider to the fly," he murmured.

A second later Derek's voice rang out, "Drop the weapon!"

Penelope swore and threw herself forward, grabbing the rope for the blinds and jerking it down hard enough that the blinds themselves nearly came crashing to the floor.

"Just in time," Ralph said, and Penelope jerked herself around to see him lift the cell phone, his finger poised over the 'send' button.

Out of nowhere, a hole appeared in the window over Penelope's head and suddenly Ralph's hand, cell phone and all, exploded.

Ralph screamed. Penelope screamed. Someone who sounded like Frannie screamed.

"It's over, Ralph," Derek said, his voice compassionate but implacable. "There's nothing more you can do here."

Ralph looked up from where he'd curled over his ruined hand and an ugly grimace-like smile spread his lips. "You think?" With his intact hand, he held out his gun.

"Damn it," Derek said, and fired.

~~~

The first thing Derek did after confirming Ralph was dead was to haul Penelope off the floor and kiss her senseless. Unfortunately, that was pretty much the last good thing that happened to her for the rest of the day.

First, the EMTs arrived for Sergeant Allred. They clucked a lot and made grim noises and while they were pretty convinced that the sergeant would make it by the time they left, they weren't nearly so sanguine about his leg.

Then came Internal Affairs, who hustled everyone off into separate rooms and proceeded to question them for hours. Penelope, who couldn't figure out how there could be any question that it was a good shooting, didn't take it well.

She took it even worse when the local FBI office came around and she had to go through the questions all over again. She was just about to put her foot down and demand that she get to see Derek when there was a knock on the door. The agent in front of her—she'd mentally dubbed him Agent Asshole—scowled and went to see who it was.

Hotch was on the other side.

Penelope let out a tiny whimper of relief, which Hotch acknowledged with a nod and a slight smile before stepping outside with Agent Asshole.

Two minutes later, Hotch came back in alone. "It's time to go, Garcia."

Penelope jumped to her feet and hurried towards the door. "It's _so_ good to see you, sir."

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Hotch said as he led her back to the bullpen. "It appears you and Morgan ended up in the middle of some ongoing conflict between the Chicago PD and the local field office. It's been straightened out."

"You're my hero," she told him earnestly.

He smiled at that and opened the door to Vecchio's office for her. Inside were Fraser, both Rays, and Derek. The latter smiled at her and held out his arm. Penelope shot a quick glance at Hotch, who was pointedly looking in another direction, and quickly moved over for a hug.

Apparently she and Hotch had interrupted a conversation, because Kowalski turned to Vecchio and said, "I told you."

Vecchio rolled his eyes. "You're qualified for a handgun, Kowalski, not a rifle."

"Yeah, well," Kowalski said. "Not much use for handguns up north. Ben's been helping me."

Fraser smiled at both of them fondly. "Ray hasn't needed much tutelage. He's a natural."

"Oh, God, don't start kissing again," Vecchio said with a groan that sounded just a little too overblown to be completely believable. He sighed and asked more seriously, "When are you going back?"

"Tonight, I'm afraid," Fraser said. "I had to leave my detachment understaffed and I'm a bit concerned about what One-Eyed Dahlia might've gotten up to while I was gone."

"It's hard to find guys to help out in the middle of nowhere," Kowalski added. "Fraser usually has to deputize someone if he has to leave quickly and Dahlia was the only one he could find before we went to the airstrip."

Hotch opened his mouth, looking completely baffled. He closed it again when both Penelope and Derek shook their heads at him.

"Well," Vecchio said gruffly. "It'll be good to see you go."

Kowalski just rolled his eyes. "I talked to Stella. You guys are coming up for a visit this summer."

Vecchio brightened visibly. "Really? How'd you manage that?"

Kowalski just smiled enigmatically. "That is for me to know and you to wonder about." He chuckled and left.

Vecchio just shook his head and turned to Fraser. "I guess I'll be seeing you soon, Benny."

"I look forward to it, Ray," Fraser said. They hugged, tightly, and this time skipped the manly posturing of back slapping. Penelope felt her eyes sting just a bit.

Once Fraser left, Vecchio dropped into the chair behind his desk, looking weary. "So," he said to Hotch. "How'd you get them out?"

"I told them we had a case come up and that we needed both Morgan and Garcia's expertise for it."

"Not bad," Vecchio said.

"Unfortunately, it's the truth," Hotch said, turning to Derek and Penelope to include them in the conversation. "A girl has been kidnapped in Indiana. She's been missing for fifteen hours. Everyone else is already on site."

"Oh," Penelope said, dismayed. She'd been hoping that she'd have a chance to meet Derek's family while they were in Chicago. And maybe a little bit hoping for another night with just the two of them at their suite.

Still, little girls came first, so she pulled away from Derek. "I have to get my gear. Give ten minutes?"

Hotch nodded and Penelope hurried out. She didn't want to be the one holding everyone up.

By the time she managed to get her laptops, wires, and cables organized, Derek and Hotch were coming out of Vecchio's office. "Thanks for loaning them to us," Vecchio said. "We wouldn't have gotten the guy without him."

"You were the one who figured out he was at the station," Derek protested.

"But you and Garcia figured out who he was," Vecchio said.

"It sounds like it was a team effort," Hotch cut in diplomatically. "I'll look forward to receiving a copy of your report. Morgan and Garcia will send their reports as soon as they are completed."

Hotch was rarely so blunt at the end of the case; Penelope took that to mean that there was reason to believe the kidnapped girl was in a lot of danger. "I'm ready," she announced, slinging her bag and her purse over her shoulder.

Hotch just nodded to her and took leave of Vecchio. Derek shook hands with Vecchio but apparently he'd already said his goodbyes, because he walked away without saying anything.

Penelope wasn't quite as prepared. "Thank you," she told him earnestly. "And thank Frannie, too, will you? And say hi to Fraser and Kowalski when you see them, won't you?"

Vecchio smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "Not a problem. Good luck with the missing girl."

She smiled at him and gripped her bags a little more tightly before hurrying away.

~~~

Hotch briefed them on the girl as they drove to the airport and got the rental car checked in. Aside from not knowing who the unsub was, it was a fairly straightforward case and they were fully up to date by the time they boarded the jet. The private one, this time.

As they settled into their seats, Penelope sitting next to Derek, Hotch said, "I try not to interfere with my agents' personal lives—"

Penelope felt Derek stiffening next to her. "Hotch," he said in a warning tone.

Hotch held up his hand. "I'm not saying you shouldn't. I'm just saying you should be discreet."

"We can be discreet," Penelope assured him quickly, gripping Derek's arm to keep him quiet. "Trust me, no one will notice anything."

Hotch smiled at her, though his eyes were a little sad. Penelope wondered if he was thinking about Haley. "Don't worry too much when it's just the team." Which Penelope translated to mean 'they're going to figure it out in a microsecond, anyway, so why bother'. "Just be careful at headquarters. Especially when Director Strauss is around."

Derek lifted his eyebrows, but just nodded. Penelope added her nodding to his and added, "We'll be careful."

"I know you will," Hotch said with another small smile. Then he closed his eyes and laid his head back.

Penelope blinked at him. "Is he... sleeping?" she whispered to Derek in disbelief.

Derek grinned at her. "I think he's being 'discreet'," he murmured back. He held up an arm invitingly. "We've got an hour or so. Wanna take a nap?"

Penelope wasn't tired in the least, but she wasn't about to turn down an invitation like that. With a smile and an overflowing heart, she slid under Derek's arm and pressed in tight.


End file.
